


silver lining climbing on my desire

by liketogetlost



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Kiss, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketogetlost/pseuds/liketogetlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's these details that lead to more details, like how Watson makes little whimpers in the back of her throat when she's being kissed. How her skin smells up close, how the soft silkiness of her hair feels swept over the back of his hand.</p>
<p>How she pulls back, bottom lip still touching his, and looks at him as if to say if he had waited one more moment he would have missed out on everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	silver lining climbing on my desire

Dark red cable knit ensconces Watson. The fabric of the big sweater she wears around the brownstone when she's cold. It swallows her arms, leaving just her fingers to peek out of the sleeves. It ends right below her bottom, letting only the last inch of the old worn cotton shorts she wears to show. The rest, bare. Slim paleness, strong and taut legs that tease. No socks, nude colored toe nails that keep clenching against the rough fabric of the high back chair she's currently lounging in.

She's reading her book, one of the ones he gave her to study up on, brow furrowed behind black rimmed reading glasses. Fingers raking through her thick, black locks now and again.

All this he takes in from his place on the couch across the room, mostly out of the corner of his eye. These details he can't seem to ignore. His whole life is details, now it seems it's a life full of details about Watson as well. 

She bites her lip, possibly contemplating a bit of text, and he finds himself fascinated with the pressure at which she applies teeth to flesh. 

She shifts her legs and there's a hole, just at her hip, in the old shorts. There's no flash of red lace or gray boyshort pants, nothing. Just more skin.

Sherlock straightens his back and breathes in deep.

It's been over a year of this. Of Watson, of  _details._ Of noticing.

It's only been lately that noticing has become obsessing.

Obsessing over brushed fingertips, accidental encounters outside of the bathroom (steam and sweet body wash smell and clean towel against damp skin " _Sorry in a rush don't look I said don't look_ "), obsessing over everything about her.

It's been a year to this moment, to him putting down his own book and looking across at her and asking, without preamble, if he could kiss her.

More to the point, "Watson, if I crossed the room right now and at once, all of our barriers, and kissed you, would you cease our friendship?"

There's more than one moment of awkward silence, and the time it takes her to drop her book, her gaze, her glasses down and say, " _Kiss_  me?"

Something in his stomach pulls, and he feels not unlike a young schoolboy. "I want to, very much, but if it means our relationship as we know it ending, and nothing new coming of it, then I'll resist."

She looks surprised, but not appalled. Intrigued, but not completely sold. There is, he notes, a tinge of pink on her cheeks.

"I -", she pauses, and places her book on the floor, " - I think you could give it a chance."

A kind of challenge, nothing so unexpected from his Watson.

Kiss or stay the course. 

Maybe be so charmed as to brush his thumb over the wicked hole in her shorts, to feel that evil circle of skin.

It's that which brings him to the floor, on his knees, in front of Joan Watson to cup the back of her neck and capture her lips in a kiss that erases all doubt.

It's these details that lead to more details, like how Watson makes little whimpers in the back of her throat when she's being kissed. How her skin smells up close, how the soft silkiness of her hair feels swept over the back of his hand.

How she pulls back, bottom lip still touching his, and looks at him as if to say if he had waited one more moment he would have missed out on everything.

He whispers thoughts into her neck and she nods, bites the flesh of his earlobe and hums. He does touch that evil bit of skin, touches it and admonishes it by removing her shorts altogether. Overcomes its gleeful tease by touching more, so much more, shins and knees and thighs - soft thighs and spreading her legs, opening, hooking over his shoulders to kiss again, and again, and again.

Red cable knit brushes the top of his head, Watson grips the arms of the chair and gasps over his wicked mouth. He relishes the heady scent, the tickle of hair, the softness of the lips and the taste, the taste of _her_. He licks, softly once, twice, then deeply with intent and her fingers grasp his hair pulling him even closer and it's unlike his daydreams. Those are long forgotten and overridden by this reality, this sweet and wet and hot. This tug and sting, this hard bud beneath his tongue that brings such beautiful sounds from his companion's throat.

He grips both her thighs, not wanting to hurt but unable to keep himself from lightly digging in his nails, wanting to mark her just a little. Just so it's there, a temporary tattoo of his devotion and appreciation.

Still soft, still slow, but then - " _Please,_ oh  _fuck_ ," he slips a hand beneath the sweater, up to find the swell of her breast and the hard bud there. Teases with his fingers, increasing the pleasure, working his tongue and lips faster,  _sucking,_ and she leaves a mark of her own with nails in his scalp as she comes. Short, quick gasps, shaking hips and clenched stomach, Watson falls apart beneath him and he relishes every second.

He pulls away, one last kiss left there, then over her thigh, her knee, winds up kissing each of her toes until she's shaking again but with laughter.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, can't help but grin, hopelessly drowned with feeling and arousal and pure adoration for the woman before him. She kisses him, sucking her wetness of his bottom lip with a lewd pop and he can't help but let out a rumble of want from inside. His cock is absurdly hard and he finds himself feeling stupid about it but mostly his priorities lie in kissing, and undressing, and finding a softer place to lay above, (or beneath or beside) Watson.

Once there, he finds more details to take in than he has room left in his brain. But oh, details he definitely and utterly needs to learn.

 


End file.
